


Life, Hope, Dream

by davincescode



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Multi, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 11:28:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5289017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/davincescode/pseuds/davincescode
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exploratory piece and a glimpse into Vincent's thought that was written for a Tumblr's meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life, Hope, Dream

Somatic Death: three to seven minutes, three to seven minutes is all the brain can ever live for without oxygen. Regulations of heartbeat and respiration, all is controlled by that electrical impulses emitted from a part of that grey matter called Medulla. Gadgets. Human’s body is one big piece of gadget. Thus once that goes, none else of the major life functions are going to work. Three to seven minutes, that’s all it takes– for some, may be slightly more. How many has passed for me? The need for air is constricting, as constricting as those tangled crimson around my body, or the azure liquid that has me bound in my movement. The sky look purest from beneath. Funny it should be one of those observation you should make when the body of water is consuming you in. I wonder if this should be what the Cetra girl saw as well; but again, she was already dead when the chocobo boy laid her to rest.

_Ah. But you are not dying, aren’t you?_

_You can’t die._

A man who cannot die, what is it he has to live for?

Dagger. Drugs and bullets.

Never drowning yourself though.

_Wanna bet? Price comes easy: only life or death._

Three to seven minutes is all the brain can ever live for without oxygen. I think I have passed those point somehow. Turks are too damn well trained. Torture, torture, you lung is caving in and you just  _beg_  for that sweet inhalation. Bubbles bubbling through laughter, this body has forced itself to stay. The world is growing dimmer, even with the flickering sun gleaming that laced through pure azure. Ironic I have never felt this  _alive_  in living. The consolation seems only offer in death– what a joker, you and your life.  _Air. Need._ ** _NO!_** Someone is reaching out a hand. Can someone be really reaching out? I’m almost at the bottom– a tangling mess of crimson and black trespassing upon unforgiving blue. A hand, I recognize that as much as the face

And I reach out to lace my fingers with hers

**Dream**

And I laced my fingers through her. Glove. Skin. Skin on skin, there’s a smile on her lips. The water is cold. Her flesh is cold. But that’s what it is about the dead, isn’t it? Algor Mortis, it’s the phase body’s beginning to cool down.

_Her smile can light up the sun._

Air. Need air. But also need to drink in upon her smile. Crimson gaze, getting more dull with each passing minutes– ticktickticktick, can you hear? That is the second of Valentine’s life being wasted away– it move to lock upon her lovely orbs. It’s as is I remember, the deep pool of…gold? No. Light. Tricks of light. But they glows. And the smile that curve upon my lips in mirroring to hers is frozen. Hand that is not hand, why has her smile turns vicious now? Skin of deepest midnight, the digits laced through mine. Water. Water is filling my lung now as I try to break away.

Her feature shifts.

And that hand that isn’t her is fold through mine, merged. That lips that isn’t her is upon mine– trapping my scream. And there’s crimson bleeding in azure from the set of wings sprouting from my black. Sound of silent terror cut through water. And there’s its word that condemned me before everything is pitched to deep dark bleakness.

**_“Mine.”_ **

When line between dreams and realities can no longer be distinguished, all falls to chaos

**_“Mine.”_ **

The man silently weep.


End file.
